Dead Ends and Puzzles
by MeghanJinx
Summary: ZaphodTrillian set shortly after she's picked up from earth about acceptance and adaptation.


There were two men by the door, one straightening his orange tie with his six fingers and the other checking messages on some sort of electronic device. They were talking and oblivious to everyone around them and no one seemed to pay them any mind. As they passed on their way to their table, Trillian overhead their conversation which included several rude phrases about the female anatomy. She had looked up from her coat in surprise. She was trying not to stare and failing horridly. She congratulated herself on not looking round and regretted it. It was all so very surreal. The reception area was jammed full of people and conversations were lilting about and fighting each other like smoke from a million cigarettes. One word would waft by, a sentence would evaporate before it ended, something fascinating would catch her ear then dissipate as soon as she looked round.

If it was one thing that always interested Trillian, it was human behavior. She could sit at the park and listen and watch. Fellow human beings and their social habits was a continually fascinating subject. Even more fascinating still, was non-human sociological behavior. She hadn't had much contact with other interstellar beings, but she stood beside Zaphod, eyes darting around the room in amazement, drinking it all in. One thing she had begun to notice was that some behavior was universal, for lack of a better phrase, to all species. It wasn't that everyone acted like humans, it was that humans acted like everyone else. It seemed some sort of thing happened in the evolution of all species that made them relative to each other. Maybe it was simply the genetic makeup that made civilizations get up and walk, use tools, build shoes stores, contact the stars. Humans were simply behind or were clever enough to conceal their knowledge of contact. Knowing homo sapiens, Trillian suspected the former. Or simply that they didn't know the significance of what had just took place or they chose not to. It amazed her, from the moment she saw Zaphod's second laughing head, of what the universe was around them. It was like being blindfolded in a crowded room without knowing you weren't alone.

But what had always bothered her was what did the universe know about contact with earth? Was Zaphod's gatecrashing an isolated incident or did humanoid aliens walk among the cities of Earth? What if they were in England, what if they were in Islington? And this opened up other questions: were the people who claim they saw UFOs and aliens telling the truth or was this all some bizarre trick of chance?

It was a bit too much too to take. She shook her head at a few green people and wished she had two brains to think about it all with, but glancing at Zaphod, agreed it was probably for the best that she didn't because it seemed to have too little thought stretched between two heads.

But that was negative. She resolved she would ask Zaphod his thoughts on this as soon as they had a quiet moment, which she hoped was soon, because the constant noise, though fascinating, was a bit too much. She hadn't gotten him alone once since they made off from Earth a few weeks prior. Zaphod or no Zaphod, he was her link and guide to the cosmos that she had no idea existed until she went to a certain fancy dress party at a certain perfect moment.

Almost too perfect, in a way.

"Zaphod," she said, her eyes on the activity around her, "where are we?"

"A restaurant, I thought you said you were hungry too."

"No, but where?"

"A fabulous little place."

"And?"

"That's the name, " he said, grinning, as he pointed to the sign in the window she hadn't seen since they'd teleported in. It read "A Fabulous Little Place."

"Oh." She placed her hand on his arm, hoping he wouldn't notice; all this jostling was making her antsy.

He moved his arm from his side a bit so she could link arms with him, neither of them saying a word.

A small humanoid man with green hair and an unmistakable air of good service appeared in front of them.

"Hello, my name is totally inconsequential and I'm your waiter for this evening, I'll take you to be seated."

"Oh," said Trillian, "why is your name ...?"

"That," said the waiter with a small bow, "is my name."

He turned and began to weave his way through the crowd, Trillian and Zaphod trying to keep up. He walked past jam-packed tables, bustling waitresses balancing too much on their arms, and private room with smoke leaking from under the doors. He stopped at a table near a window and pulled out Trillian's seat . She heard a raucous laugh and turned, mid-sit to look at the table behind them.

Sitting at the table were what looked like giant cockroaches, dressed in bandannas, speaking perfect English (or Babel-fish English) in what, to Trillian's surprise, sounded like Mexican accents.

"Oh, man, there was a bright light, you know and we were all holding hands to get out, man."

Trillian made a face and turned to Zaphod, helplessly. Zaphod frowned in consternation and said, "Hey, man, somewhere away from the wildlife, all right? The lady isn't from around here."

The waiter looked around at the offending guests, surprised and bowed, "My apologies, sir, right this way."

"Thank you," said Trillian, under her breath, "I didn't want to be rude, but that is disgusting. Are there many types like that?"

"Unfortunately," Zaphod said, "yes. Takes you by surprise sometimes. But those guys? They're cool. Far out planet, man. You can score some --" he stopped and changed the subject with a smile. He didn't say anything, but it was an "I changed the subject, now talk" smile, that wouldn't have worked on anyone but Zaphod and barely worked on Trillian. She raised her eyebrows as the waiter showed them to their table.

"Drinks," said the waiter.

"I'll have, let's see, a ..." he gave an evil grin while his other head looked at the menu, "Pan Galatic Gargle Blaster. Gotta live a little."

The waiter returned his grin a little conspiratorially, and said, "Miss?"

"Uh, water please," she said. Whatever Zaphod had ordered with a look like that wasn't something she need to be messing about with.

"Okay. Back." The waiter turned and disappeared into the crowd.

"Man of few words, hmm?" said Trillian, watching his retreating back.

"Well, it cuts down on time. He is Totally Inconsequential, after all." He rested his elbows on the table deliberately and said, "You know, you didn't have to a get a water, the computer runs the ship."

"I don't drink much," she replied vaguely, picking up her menu. "What's good here?"

"The steaks," Zaphod replied, "best steaks ever."

"What type of meat?" she asked cautiously. Confronting, usually against her own will, strange meats would become a theme in her life.

"The fifth leg of this creature on the third sun of this really wild planet. They're kind of like land fish, kind of like cattle."

"Why are you being vague?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

He leaned forward, "Specifics aren't exactly appetizing." His other head nodded a "sad, but true" nod.

"What's so special about it, is it rare?"

"Not at all. It's more how it's prepared that makes it great. Like, hey, listen to this -- " He proceeded to rattle off, with a glazed look in his eye, a number of seasonings that made absolutely no sense to Trillian, but she caught the word "eviscerated" and tried to ignore it.

"That sounds so good. Well, I know what I'm talking about, so trust me."

He'd said this several times on different occasions and the more he said it the more doubtful she became.

Seeing her face she hoped was mask of emotion to disguise her doubt but was actually blatant disgust, he laughed. "Trust me, it's good."

The waiter returned at that moment, set the drinks down on the table and said, "So."

"Two fabulous steaks," said Zaphod, before Trillian could say anything, "medium rare, hold the firehouse fish sauce."

Firehouse fish sauce? Trillian mouthed at this unoccupied head.

"Appetizer?" said the waiter.

"Can I have some of the non-scaled --"

"Actually," said Trillian, putting up a finger, "we'll skip the appetizers."

The waiter and Zaphod looked at her in surprise. "Right," said the waiter. "Back."

They watched him dash away in silence.

"You could've just told me you didn't want an appetizer," said Zaphod, cocking his eyebrow, confused.

"Ah, but you wouldn't have listened."

Zaphod opened his mouth to speak, closed it, looked at his other head who raised his eyebrows, then shrugged.

"What is that thing?" asked Trillian, pointing to the drink Zaphod was now sipping cautiously. A bit dripped down the side and burned the handle of his cutlery. Trillian was aghast.

"Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. Best and worst drink in existence."

"Best AND worst?"

"Best as in "get you so pissed you won't remember your own face" and worst as in "get you so pissed you won't remember anyone's face, not especially strange girls you pick up right before dawn."

"And you're just going to drink that, smoking and all?"

Zaphod swallowed, gave a slight wince he tried to hide, and said, "Want a sip?"

Trillian stared at it in what, she wasn't going to lie, was terror.

"C'mon, we can share, I've had all my shots, here." He handed her the drink. She took a sharp intake of breath and sipped. She would later read in the Guide that drinking a Gargle Blaster was the equivalent of having your brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick. It couldn't be more true. She blacked out for a second and came to to herself saying loudly, "Oh my God!"

She breathed quickly and gripped the table, her eyes watering. "What -- is -- in that thing?"

"When we get back to the ship, I'll mix one for you, mine are better than this anyway." He grinned and took a long sip while his other head said, "You enjoy your water now."

She caught her breath and said, "Don't worry, I will." She let go of the table; her knuckles were white. He patted her hand gingerly and she pretended not to notice. It was an unexpected gesture and she didn't want to call attention to it. His hand was so much larger than hers and after patting her quickly, rested his hand entirely on top of hers for a split second, and moved it slightly slowly, his fingers brushing hers, starting at the knuckles and moving in between her fingers like an errant hand running down a thigh. It all happened for a second and he perhaps hadn't noticed the sexual implications of what he'd done, but she did and she could feel his fingernails on her joints long after he'd gone back to his drink.

She shook herself.

They sat in silence for a while; Trillian had learned, even though she was his date, that coming in between Zaphod and his alcohol was like coming between a bear and someone's misplaced hand. She took again to watch the spectacle around her, then stopped as a few characters were a bit vile. She needed to get over this, she reminded herself, if she was going to get anywhere. It was always very hard to shake your previous society's taboos. Very hard indeed.

"Aaaand here is the star attraction," Zaphod said as the waiter set down their sizzling steaks.

"Enjoy, back," said the waiter, running off again.

Trillian watched Zaphod pick up his knife and fork and begin to eat with one of his heads. The other sipped the Gargle Blaster and frowned at Trillian's hesitancy.

"It's good, try it."

She shrugged and took a bite. It was ... something. It was like an orgasm burst into her mouth, it was a reaction as unexpected as the Gargle Blaster, but this was entirely pleasant. "Oh," she said. "This is delicious."

"You should trust me, babe. I mean, I wouldn't, but you're free to the option."

They ate in silence for a bit until Trillian said, "You know, I've always wondered, what does the rest of the universe know about my planet?"

"Well," said Zaphod's non-eating head, "what does um ... starts with an "E" ... earth, right? Yeah. Um what does Earth know about the rest of the universe."

"We've had what we think of as visitors," she said slowly, taking a sip of water. She set the glass down and said, "People have seen things, lots of things." She took another bite of steak and tried not to moan in pleasure; it gave people ideas.

"Oh, probably just teasers," said Zaphod, with a laugh. He explained to her perplexed face.

"Well, there's that, then there's the abductions."

"Yeah?"

"People claim they've been taken by aliens, and they all describe them the same. Grey, big black eyes, vaguely humanoid shapes. It happens far too often, I've always found it curious."

"They sound like the guys on the planet of Celumcepspec. Best doctors in the galaxy, bit off-looking, but it's a real medical planet. Can cure you of anything." He paused for a moment and said seriously suddenly, "There's stories, you know, of medical experiments on primitives. It's been investigated, but no one found much evidence. Grey, you said, little shorter than you?"

"Well, yes."

"Probably them then. Like to learn about different types of bodies, you know, there's fifty or so major types and not a lot of willing subjects. Anal probes?" he added with a whisper.

"Yes!" Trillian said, her hand shaking.

"Yeah." He sat back. "Big into um, anal probes. Pretty bad stuff." He sighed seriously. "The worst part is when they try to make conversation when they do it, you know, it's like, you've got your cold hard thing up my a--"

Trillian stared at him aghast in horror. What had she gotten herself into? She pushed away her meal. He stopped mid-sentence, seeing her face and collapsed laughing.

"Gee, you humans!" he said, shaking his head. "I'm just kidding."

"Maybe," said his other head with a snort. It shoved a piece of steak into it's mouth and chewed in a smarmy manner.

Trillian glared at him. Her steak was forgotten.

He put down his cutlery and wiped his mouth. "Nothing's going to happen to you, really. I've lived nearly 200 years and nothing major has happened to me that I can remember and have not blocked out." He gave her a brittle grin.

She tried to soften her face, but her eyes gave her away.

"200 years, you say?" she replied rather coldly. She didn't mean to, but no matter what her words her tone was always honest.

"Yeah, big two-oh-oh in a couple of months."

She gave a slight nod.

He stopped as he reached for his fork.

"I'm sorry," he said brusquely, "I forget you're new at this."

She tried to smile, gave up and opened her mouth to give him a specific piece of her mind but their tender moment of misunderstanding was interrupted by a loud voice: "Daaaaarling!"

In unison all three heads present swiveled to look at a girl standing next to their table. Her skirt was sky high and her large breasts spilled out from her meager blouse. Trillian wanted to give her a fiver and tell her to buy a bra.

She was very very beautiful, but curiously so. She looked human, but instead of human ears, she had large cat ears perched amidst her blonde hair at the top of her head and from underneath her skirt, a tufted tail swished back and forth. She looked anywhere but at Trillian and smiled a manic ruby-red smile, showing slightly sharp canine teeth.

img src"http/meghan. you remember me, love?"

Zaphod had sly grin on both his faces. He gave a pout and said, "You'll have to refresh my memory."

She pulled his chair back slowly and sat on his lap, rubbing her round behind against his thighs slightly.

"Ohhhh," he said, "I remember you, baby." Zaphod, apparently, never forgot a great ass, Trillian mused, trying not to feel uncomfortable.

Trillian couldn't tell if he'd forgotten she'd existed or that he was deliberately ignoring her.

"I hope you didn't forget?"

"Of course not."

"You didn't call," she said, with a cat-like purr. She suddenly grabbed his left hand and looked at his wrist, where a set of digits was written. "Ah, oh darling."

Trillian had seen that set of digits a few hours after they'd met and didn't ask; she figured it was some sort of tattoo.

"Yeah, about that," said Zaphod, frowning, "hey, um, what the hell kind of ink is this? It won't come off." He tried to sound casual.

She slid off of his lap and smiled slowly. "It's written with a special type of pen. It won't go away until your phone number calls these --" she pointed to his wrist -- "numbers."

"That's kind of not cool," said Zaphod. Trillian could tell he knew she was watching him.

"I just wanted to have fun again," she said simply, then gave a devious smile.

"Honey," said Zaphod slowly, "any other week than this, and there would be a sequel. And then it would become a trilogy and then it would become a quartet that everyone hates but no one wants to admit. Then it could become a series. Any other week before this. But, I'm ..."

Here it comes, thought Trillian, watching intently.

"Currently very tied up." He reached out and took Trillian's hand and held it up, "this is Trillian." He wouldn't look her in the eye.

She glared at Trillian in a primal sort of way. Trillian had a sudden vision of claws and hair-pulling. What she didn't need was a cat fight with a cat girl.

But instead the girl crossed her arms and said, "The Zaphod I knew for two glorious hours --"

Two hours? Trillian boggled.

"-- would've invited her along. I'd be willing. I'd be willing with anyone else." She flicked her tail.

A tiny, almost instant look of pain, pain and regret Trillian suspected Zaphod was experiencing out of being relationshipped out of a great threesome, crossed his face. But then he said, "And this is why those numbers aren't cool. They're not going to get called now. And they need to come off."

The girl made a face like she had bitten into a sour lemon. "I told you," she said nastily, "how they come off. And they're going to be around until you come around, understand?"

She swished her tail, jutted her hip and stalked off, her spine stiff with offense.

"You know, Gargle Blasters are ... they're a hell of a drink," Zaphod muttered. He saw the waiter evanescencing by and snapped his fingers.

The waiter paused and raised his eyebrows.

"Check," said Zaphod, crossing his arms.

"Back," the waiter replied.

They sat together in silence once more.

"Does that happen often?" Trillian ventured.

"Er, what?" Zaphod gave a nonchalant grin.

"You get so "pissed you can't even remember your own face" and have sex with insane women?"

"Hey, sometimes I don't get pissed and they turn don't turn out to be insane," said Zaphod quietly. Their eyes met. It was an interesting experience, as the six eyes all stared at each other. "Cut me some slack, yeah?"

The waiter returned with a bill. Zaphod grabbed his arm and took the pen and copied the numbers from his wrist onto the copy of the receipt. He pulled out a strange form of currency and the waiter raised his eyebrows. "Listen, this is yours --" he pressed the money into the waiter's hand, along with the number, "if you call THIS number, on THIS phone." He pulled out what seemed to Trillian to be some sort of portable phone. It was smooth, about the size of a credit card and very sleek. "And if you do it in the next few minutes, the phone is yours."

The waiter looked around, dropped his air and his voice and said, "Are you serious? This is mine, if I just call this number, on this phone? And the phone is mine?"

"And I'll know if you haven't," said Zaphod seriously.

"Of course, sir! Thank you very much."

Zaphod was writing a check as the waiter turned the phone over in his hand and gripped his money. Zaphod handed the check to him and gave a knowing nod.

The waiter straightened up and said, "Thanks, great time, come again," and walked off, trying to regain his rhythm, but was a little startled.

"C'mon," said Zaphod, not un-bitterly, "let's beat it."

As they walked through the crowd, they passed the back of the catgirl at a table with friends. She was yelling into her phone, "What do you mean, who is this? Isn't this Zaphod Beeblebrox? Who the hell are you?"

Zaphod grinned and showed Trillian his wrist; the numbers were gone. He gave her a wink, took her hand and led her quickly through the crowd.

They stood in the congestion in the waiting area. Trillian realized she hadn't even removed her coat. She noticed the cockroaches were still there, and were now very drunk and catcalling at the pretty waitresses.

She was idly creature-watching when suddenly felt a urgent tug at her arm that almost knocked her off her feet. She stumbled and looked wildly at Zaphod. "What!"

"I just heard my name!"

"So?"

He looked over her shoulder and went white.

"It's him!" Zaphod tried to duck down, but two heads were pretty obvious. Trillian didn't feel the need to remind him of this.

"Dammit!"

"Who is it?" she demanded quietly.

"I um, owe him money."

"And?"

"Would you stop saying 'and', yeah? I owe him lots of money. Let's fly." He grabbed her and pulled her in the opposite direction of the parking lot. She turned to look at the man Zaphod was staring at. She couldn't hear him, but she saw him mouth the word "Beeblebrox." He was fat, with a goatee and tiny black sunglasses. He turned and for a second, a large gun was visible in his pockets.

"Stop pulling me!" she snapped. "You're very strong! Tell me what's going on!"

"I gotta tell you on the run, honey."

"Why --"

"Because "covered in blood" is not my color!"

"We could tele--"

"He was right in front of the teleporter!"

Zaphod was leading her down a corridor past the restrooms. She looked over her shoulder and frowned.

"How much money do you owe him?"

"So much you can't even wrap your mind around it. I mean, I can't even."

The hall became less and less carpeted. By the middle of it, the lights went out and all she could navigate herself with was the sound of Zaphod breathing and his hand on her arm.

Moments later, a flickering yellow light could be seen up ahead; moths dancing in it. It had a sad, desperate air, like a light in a debtor's prison.

They had come to a place with cement floors, like a warehouse. He opened the door in front of them and led her past the storage and boxes in alien tongues. Her heels clicked on the floor as she whipped her head around to look at the room.

"How did he know you were going to be here?"

"He, er, owns the restaurant."

Trillian stopped and jerked her hand from him causing Zaphod to stumble. He turned around and looked at her pointedly.

"What?"

Trillian was trying to wrap her brain around this appalling display of sheer idiocy.

"He owns the restaurant and you come here tonight! He--"

"I always come here!" he countered.

"Why! He had a gun!"

"Let's discuss this on the quick, okay?"

"No, I want --"

"You don't i understand /i ! We -- have -- to -- go!"

"Your impatience is wearing thin!"

"Come on, no one likes a hypocrit," he said, grabbing her again.

"Are we in i immediate danger /i ?" she asked doubtfully, knowing Zaphod's love of dramatics and allowing herself reluctantly to be dragged. She wondered if it would be easier for him to pick her up or drag her by her hair like a caveman; she wouldn't put it past him.

"Do you wanna stick around and find out?"

She kept her mouth closed this time and ran through the room with him to a large metal door which Zaphod seemed to know was unlocked. It led to a spindly iron landing, like a fire escape, an exposed vertebrae on the back of the building. Below it was the dumpsters and chimneys from the kitchen coughing steam.

"We go down this?" she asked as he paused.

"And quick."

He scaled the stairs with familiarity and she tried to go as quickly as she could in her heels. The air outside was crisp, not exactly cold, but the wind stung her legs.

They reached the bottom and Zaphod slowed, and rounded a corner. He rested his hands on the cement of the building and looked; it was an alternative way into the carpark. He was breathing heavily.

"It's always drama with you, isn't it?"

"Ssssh," he said distractedly. He was stamping his feet, his hand curling into a fist. They waited.

"Zaphod --"

"I said shhh."

She shut up, but only reluctantly.

"C'mon."

With one head keeping a look out, they entered the carpark, ducking under the ships, and weaving their way as cautiously and quickly as they could. Every so often, for no reason Trillian could see other than it was dramatic or dashing, they would duck down and Zaphod would look about like a recovering schizophrenic who heard an unexpected, curious noise.

"Where did we park?"

"Dammit," said Zaphod, "I don't remember! We came in THAT teleporter, so it's around there somewhere ..."

They crouched behind a large black ship, only their feet and crouched knees visible. Her heels, his boots.

img src"http/meghan. looked around the ship.

"There it is!"

He looked up for a brave moment to confirm.

"Okay, on three, we break for it."

"All right --"

"Three!" he suddenly yelled and they ran towards the ship. They slammed against it, or rather Zaphod slammed into it and she bounced off of him. She dropped his hand and Zaphod began to fumble in his pockets.

"What are you doing?"

"Keys!"

"... your ship needs keys?"

"Well, it's not car keys, it's um, ship keys!" He was patting every inch of himself. He turned around and frisked Trillian. She gave a click of her tongue and he went back to digging in his pockets.

"You know what? It's a wonder you haven't died yet."

"I died 20 years ago," he said distractedly, "the Grim Reaper just hasn't gotten the courage to tell me yet."

"I'm very frustrated with you."

"Get in line."

"You're going to get hurt one day."

"Oooh, baby, that's how I like it." He found another pocket in his jacket.

"One day, I'm going to be the one to hurt you."

"Yeah, yeah, the riding crop and leather pants are on the ship."

She leaned her head back against the ship and stared high into the upper stories, the light harsh and blinding; she blinked and saw the whole picture in negative.

"You are ... such a piece of work."

"And you're a doll. Yes!" He took out a complicated looking silver instrument, which he pointed at the ship. The hatch opened. He wiped the sweat from his brow. His hair, which was usually everywhere, was even more everywhere, blond strands in his eyes. He let out a long breath and slumped against the ship, relaxing now that he was convinced he was free.

"After you," he breathed and helped her on.

She stepped into the ship as Zaphod got them the hell out of Dodge.

It was silent for a bit but he seemed to know she had something on her mind; it was a subtle signal all women gave off when angry. She was sure he could feel it on his back like heat. True to her suspicion, he turned around.

"So what was all this!" she asked before he could open his mouth, crossing her arms.

"All what?"

"The restaurant! You knew you owed him money and he owns ..." She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows.

He let out a sigh and let his arms fall to his sides. "They have fabulous steaks."

"I'm sure everyone else does!"

"No, no, that's the dish name. Fabulous steak."

"Well, this was completely ... brain-dead," she said, glaring. "What could he have done to you?"

"You don't want to know. Trust me."

"And you ... and you bring me there?"

Zaphod put his hand on his hip. "I just wanted to take you somewhere I liked. And I'll admit, this has kind of been the dining trip to hell, but I just wanted to show you a good time, you know?"

"A good time!"

He pursed his lips.

And then on his face, there was a split second of vulnerability, a pop, a quick bolt of lightening. It was there for a few seconds, Zaphod looking genuinely upset, his confidence crumbling. He frowned further. He didn't even seem to notice it, but Trillian could see he felt it and didn't know fully what it was.

"I'm going to be in my cabin," she said.

She turned around and walked out of the room and for once she noticed Zaphod couldn't think of anything to say back to her.

img src"http/meghan. that night, Trillian sat in her cabin on her bed. Her knees were drawn up to her chin and she had wrapped her arms around her knees uncertainly. Something seemed to not fit and she didn't know what that was. She still felt she should be angry at Zaphod, but there was a look in his eyes back in the warehouse which clearly told her to think, told her to be the one in charge, because he couldn't. He wouldn't admit it, but as much as there was ego, there was an insecurity, which was infuriating because of his complete ignorance of it. He knew it was there and it obviously confused him. It seemed her whole arrival had confused him, in some way. There was a lot of dead ends and puzzles.

She'd been thinking a lot lately and all she'd seen in the restaurant and how it was different but completely the same as everything on earth. It was mildly disappointing, yet comforting in an infuriating way. Had she even left earth? It seemed to her, no matter where she went, men and women were always going to be at odds. And there would always be people like Zaphod. They didn't have to be the same species, there was something in the chromosomes. She was seriously doubting all of this. In fact, she was pretty sure in the future she always would. What would the price of her handbag have cost her?

And then there she resented a bit that it had to be Zaphod who picked her up. A whole galaxy and this? It wasn't so much the Zaphod as the position she was in. She felt helpless and new and he wasn't helping matters.

There was a knock at the door. Trillian tried to look relaxed and said quietly, "Come in."

It was Zaphod. He had a curious look on his face. He was shirtless; she hoped he hadn't been drinking. Zaphod drinking could go a number of ways, she'd learned quickly, and one of the ways was that sometimes he seemed to forget he wasn't alone. Oh how he forgot.

"Gargle Blaster?"

"No, I've been thinking," he said.

"Mmmm?"

"Listen." He sat down on her bed. His weight completely dipped the bed down; she moved over. "I'm, uh, well, I'm sorry. That was kind of um ... yeah." She was surprised he knew the meaning of the word.

"Stupid?" she suggested.

"Mmm."

"Irresponsible?"

"Mmmm."

"Selfish?"

"Mmm okay, okay, stop the insults, we get it, we get it. Take the needle out. I'm bad at relationships and you're always right." There was no sarcasm or irony in his voice.

"No one's always right."

"Well, I always assume I am."

"And," she said, pointing a finger at him and waving it slightly, "in that assumption, you prove that you really aren't always right, because that is not true."

"Okay, okay, yeah."

She looked at him pointedly.

"Oh, you wanna talk about it?" He shrugged.

"No, it never makes any difference."

They were quiet for a long while.

He slowly set his hand on top of hers again. She stared ahead as he rubbed his finger over her knuckle and in down her fingers and finally in soft flesh between her index and middle. She looked him in the eye and he stopped.

"No," she said, "it's all right."

There was a moment and she could feel both his heads thinking.

He sighed and took her hand. "Okay."

"Yes?"

"I have something to tell you, and it's the wildest thing you're ever going to hear." His face was alight with resolve.

"Try me."

He pressed her hand between the two of his, the tops of her fingers reaching the middle joint of his.

"There's this ship. It's the ... most amazing ship, you wouldn't believe."

She nodded slowly, then sighed. He wasn't going to talk about it and forcing herself to feel a certain emotion wasn't going to help her understand why she felt it. She smiled softly.

"You know," she interrupted, "it was really nice of you to give the waiter your telephone." Good behaviour ought to be encouraged.

He gave a dirty little laugh. "It was a disposable. Ran out about twenty minutes after we left."

She hunched her shoulders and brought the subject back round lest she start thinking again.

"Well, what's so wonderful about it?"

"It shouldn't even exist."

"Really now?"

"It's even too wild and unbelievable to exist." Both his heads smiled in unison.

"Whose ship is it?"

Zaphod stopped rubbing her hands against hers, looked up, looked her in the eye and said, "That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."

She waited for it.

"It'll be ours."

"Who are you going to buy it from then?"

"No, no. It's not for buying. It's for ours."

"But, you mean ...?"

"Yes." He dropped her hand and gave a fierce smile. It as fierce as in primal, evil. A wicked little boy who never grew up.

"So you mean, steal it, steal it how? Why?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You don't know anything you do, do you?"

"No, I don't actually," he said sharply. He lied back on the bed next to her. "I never do. But I have to take this ship."

"Who told you you had to? Does it have something to do with the restaurant man?"

"No, no." He sat up and cracked his knuckles, looking away thinking. "It's bigger than this. It's bigger than the biggest thing ever."

"What do I have to do with this?"

"That's the whole thing."

She paused.

At one point when one has encountered an extrinsic culture, not so much removed from her own, but still remote, one has to decide: do they become a part of this culture, or do they not? Thoughts were going through Trillian's head quickly. There were several things tonight had told her. One was that it was always a jungle out there, no matter what planet the jungle was on and that events are sort of always a different door, with the same key. The door in front of her at the moment was large, imposing, frightening and she had just begun to reach out her hand trembling.

This wasn't earth anymore and she'd be damned if she'd be the alien. She'd be damned if Zaphod would know what he was talking about all the time and always being right by default because she didn't know. She'd be damned if she'd be Tricia anymore. She touched the metaphorical doorknob.

Zaphod was looking down at her, expectantly.

She sat up and smiled and clasped Zaphod's hand in her own.

"Tell me more."


End file.
